Love in a Sensible Apron
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: Sachertorte is actually quite useful for establishing relationships, although Germany was not aware of this when he made it. GerIta, K as K can be.


Germany began sifting the flour into the batter, feeling rather awkward and feeling silly for feeling awkward.

It wasn't that there was anything _wrong_ with baking, not as such, but- but he was the Bundesrepublik Deutschland, the pillar of the EU, by private admission of his colleagues damn terrifying when he wanted to be, and he was standing in his kitchen in an apron making Sachertorte- not even a German cake, Prussia would either laugh or go on about how _I knew I shouldn't have left you with Prissypants so much_ but he would also eat the cake- feeling really very foolish.

At least the apron was sensible and not pink or patterned or anything.

Germany returned to his sifting, occasionally banging on the side of the sifter, until suddenly the door opened. He barely had time to look up before a certain Italian barged into the apartment's kitchen and nearly caused a nasty flour-related accident, cheerily shouting "Hey, Germany! I thought I'd just come over and-" It was at this point that Veneziano noticed what Germany was doing. "Oh, I didn't know you baked!"

Germany averted his eyes and grumbled something to the effect of "knock before you come into my house", and tried not to imagine what France and America would say at the next meeting after the news got out of the fearsome Germany's cake-baking habit. There would definitely be laughter, he reflected morosely. Sly pastry-related jokes would probably travel around the meeting table for months.

"Do you need any help?"

He started- Germany'd been expecting a laugh at the very least, but Veneziano was staring at the mixing bowl with interest. "Um. If you want to help, you can, but I don't really need it."

"Ah, all right," hummed Veneziano, hopping up onto a clear space on the counter. "I'll just stay here, then!"

Oh. Okay. Germany could deal with people watching him bake. He could deal with- with Veneziano watching him, but that didn't mean he didn't go back to work with self-consciousness curling in his stomach.

Silence reigned until Germany was stirring the batter again, and Veneziano piped up, "I don't think it's weird, you know."

"Hm?"

"You baking. You were worried I thought it was weird."

"N-no, I wasn't." _How had he known?_

"Yeah, you were!" Veneziano nodded, sending his curly hair bouncing. "Your shoulders were all tense, and not in the I-have-too-much-work way either."

Veneziano really had no business noticing things like that, and Germany wondered what exactly it was that his heart was doing now, knowing that Veneziano did notice, and he staunchly did not apply _fluttering_ to said action. Instead, he poured the batter into the pan and said "Ah."

"Yeah, and it's not even the weirdest thing any of us do." Veneziano looked around conspiratorially before leaning closer (Germany was momentarily afraid he'd fall off the counter). "England and France have embroidery parties."

_Oh God, please don't let that be a euphemism_. "Veneziano, are you entirely sure-"

"I walked in on them once and France was stitching a pillow." Veneziano slid back onto his feet and followed Germany to the oven, watching him place the cake pan inside. There was a definite laugh in his voice when he said "And don't tell him I said this, but England is way better at it, too," and words like that in a voice like that shouldn't have made Germany's heart do what it did.

He set the timer and began setting up for making the glaze, even though you couldn't actually make it until the cake was ready. Still, being prepared never hurt, and Germany told Veneziano this in response to his questioning gaze.

"Mm, I guess," said Veneziano absently, swiping his finger through the remnants of the batter and tasting it. "Hey, this is good!"

"That's unsanitary."

This only gained an eye-roll from Veneziano. "But it's _good_! Try it!" And he swiped his finger through the batter again and pushed it through Germany's lips before you could say _what are you doing_, which Germany tried to say but failed due to the finger in his mouth and the blush on his cheeks.

Veneziano smiled as though he hadn't gone and shoved his fingers in Germany's mouth and chirped, "Isn't it good? You're a great baker, you know." And then he pulled his finger back out and grinned like Germany wasn't spluttering and he hadn't just _shoved his finger in Germany's mouth why had he done that it wasn't what friends did_-

Then again, it wasn't as though Germany knew exactly what friends did, and Prussia, France, and Spain were certainly touchy like that, and so was Veneziano. Who had definitely not meant anything by it, that was how Veneziano acted with everybody, and Germany squashed the little traitorous voice that said _but you don't see him sticking his fingers in America's mouth, do you _and the faint relief that accompanied it and buried them deep, ignoring his oddly closed-up throat.

"Well? Wasn't it good?"

"I. Um. Yes." And then Veneziano made a small, bright noise of approval and reseated himself on the counter, and began chattering about how it really wasn't that weird that Germany baked, Romano wears pink aprons after all, and also did you know that Turkey's in a knitting circle, he goes every week, there's a bunch of old ladies and they all crochet together, I bet you didn't know _that_, did you, and Germany was surprised how quickly the timer beeped.

He set the cake out to cool and began melting the chocolate for the glaze, and Veneziano kept talking- now it was about how Romano had told him that America had told him that he'd seen Canada and Cuba doing yoga- and Germany found himself laughing a little, which made Veneziano laugh, which made Germany's stomach do that strange thing again.

"-And also Poland told me that Estonia told him Finland nearly shot Denmark's head off twice, so you just really can't tell, can you?"

"I think I heard about that from Sweden." What Germany was actually thinking was _only twice?_, but the cake was probably cool by now and "Actually, Veneziano, if you could help me spread the jam?"

Veneziano agreed, and Germany sliced the cake in half, and the apricot preserves and chocolate glaze were spread quite quickly, and then they had to wait again while the cake set in the fridge.

Sprawling on the couch, Veneziano declared it siesta time since they had both worked _so_ hard, and left Germany to do the washing-up. He didn't seem to be asleep whenever Germany glanced over (and he was just checking that Veneziano was asleep, that was all) and indeed, after a while, began humming to himself.

"Do you need any help?"

"I— ah— not really, but-" And then it was too late, for Veneziano stood up and moved beside him and began drying the dishes.

Germany noted he didn't ask where they went, but put them in the correct place anyway.

He also noticed that Veneziano was standing far closer than was entirely necessary, and glancing at him every so often only to look away when he noticed Germany looking back, and then Germany noticed that he was noticing these things and tried very quickly to focus on the soap and the mixing bowl in his hands instead.

And more or less failed.

"Is the cake ready yet?" Veneziano looked up at him, brushing Germany's side.

"It should be, yes."

Veneziano cheered, rushing to the refrigerator. Wiping suds off of his hands, Germany followed at a more sedate pace, fetching a pair of plates and forks and laying them on the dinner table and locating the cake knife. Removing the Sachertorte from the refrigerator, Veneziano sighed happily and cut two generous slices, handing one to Germany. He beamed as he looked at his own, sending Germany's heart on another minor flip-flop, and chirped "It looks fantastic! Try some!" And he held a forkful out to Germany.

Germany had his own perfectly satisfactory slice, and letting other people feed him- letting _Veneziano_ feed him- was weird and not correct friend behavior, but he accepted Veneziano's forkful for reasons entirely unknown to him.

"Is it good?" Veneziano was shifting around in his seat, looking incongruously nervous.

Germany hesitated to compliment his own work, but "Pretty good, yes."

And then.

And then.

Veneziano leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips, mouth closed, and.

And.

Coherent thought took a few long moments to return to Germany's head, and brought with it the whole noise of _did that just happen it just happened he kissed me he kissed_ me_ what do I do now why did he do that oh my God he kissed me should I kiss back oh my God I'm messing this up _and Veneziano looked down and to the side, hands twisting around each other.

"I," Germany said, and "uh."

"Sorry." Veneziano seemed to be trying to shrink, such a contrast from his earlier cheery mood, how was Germany supposed to deal with this?

"No! No, don't be, I— ah—" Germany searched for a way to continue that wouldn't result in quite so much blushing and stammering, and, finding none, attempted to continue. "It's— okay."

"Really?" Veneziano brightened almost immediately. "You— you liked it?" He leaned forward, clasping Germany's free hand. "I'm so glad, I was really scared about it for a while but you liked that and that's good and I should eat my cake now but you liked it I'm so happy!"

Germany reeled under the onslaught of words, but offered Veneziano a forkful of his own slice before he could think twice and stop himself, and Veneziano ate it with a smile and a little "mm!", and they managed to finish half the cake that afternoon, and before he left Veneziano promised to teach Germany the secret to Ciambella Romagnola and kissed him again, tasting of bitter chocolate and apricots and something very new but very familiar indeed.


End file.
